


Hand Over Heart

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [82]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Aging, Angst, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Mortality, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian is taken ill. His sudden turn has huge implications for him, Justin, and their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A word of warning - this may be the angstiest thing I've ever written for this series. This first chapter is particularly dark. Rest assured, this won't be a WIP for too long. I plan to update very soon. In the meantime, I hope you can forgive the angsty turn. As always, feedback is truly appreciated.

The first one feels like a red-hot needle slicing through Brian’s chest. He clasps his hand over his heart and gasps for breath, but his lungs suddenly feel deflated.

The second one feels like a white-hot knife daggering his heart. It’s slow; it takes its time to reach his core. Brian grabs his desk to try and steady himself, but it’s hard to find balance when the room is spinning.

“Brian?”

He hears Cynthia calling his name. He registers the panic in her tone. He can’t see her… he can’t see _anything._

The third one is countless shards of glass flying at him, driving through his skin, into his chest, through his heart. His left hand, still clutching his chest, is trembling uncontrollably.

He feels Cynthia’s hands on him. He hears her calling for help. He tries to say something, tries to breathe, tries to free himself from this agony… but nothing works.

As everything goes black, his last thought is of Justin, somewhere very far away.

*

When Justin boards the plane at LAX, his first thought is: _I’m going home._

He can’t wait. His brief tour through LA’s thriving art scene was fun, but New York is calling to him.

What he doesn’t realise is that New York is _literally_ calling him. He doesn’t find that out until the plane lands.

At that point, five and a half hours have passed. He’s missed six calls from Cynthia and three from an unknown number. Alongside five voicemails, there are endless texts from Cynthia. As Justin reads through them, he panics. He can feel his world shifting around him. It’s hard to find his footing, but he forces himself to. He races through the airport, pushes through the queue of travellers waiting in line, and dives into the first cab he sees. He orders the driver to take him to New York Presbyterian and then calls Cynthia.

It goes to voicemail. Why does it go to voicemail?

Justin puts his head in his hands and closes his eyes. He tries to find some semblance of calm.

He comes up completely empty.

When at last the cab arrives at the hospital, Justin throws a wad of cash at the driver and then makes a run for it. He sprints inside and through the corridors (it inspires a distant sense of deja vu, one which he’s too frantic to acknowledge), straight to the room where he’s been told Brian will be waiting.

Alive. Alive. He has to be alive. He can’t be-

“Justin!” Cynthia leaps into his arms and hugs him. “Honey, I’m so sorry-”

“Sorry?!” Justin’s stomach turns. “Why are you sorry?”

“No…” Cynthia winces and grabs his shoulders. “Honey, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that I’m sorry I missed your calls. And I’m sorry if I scared you. He’s okay, he’s fine-”

“Where?” Justin glances around wildly, searching for the right room number. “Where is he?”

“In there,” she says, pointing towards the room to their left.

Justin worms out of her grasp and runs into the room. He screeches to a halt at the sight of Brian. “Holy shit.”

Brian is lying in the bed in a hospital gown with wires spread everywhere around him. He looks incredibly pale, although he does brighten when he sees Justin. He forces a thin, empty smile and says, “Hey, Sunshine. Now calm down-”

“What’s wrong?” Justin’s eyes fill with tears. He dumps his duffel bag and coat on the floor and dives towards Brian. As he sits on the bed and takes Brian’s hands in his, he pleads, “Tell me what happened.”

With a small shrug, Brian replies, “I don’t know. I was getting ready for a presentation and my chest started hurting. Cynthia called 911 and they brought me here. The doctors have been running tests for hours now.”

Justin is horrified. “Doctors? Plural?”

Brian grimaces. “Doctors. Plural. Look, it’s okay-”

Justin can’t hear Brian’s attempts to calm him down. All he can hear is the dull beep of the monitor, tracking Brian’s heart rate. The only thing that tears his attention away from that is the sound of the door clicking open and a man saying, “Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all,” Brian says, sounding enviably calm. “Doc, this is Justin. Justin, Dr. Lyall.”

“Hi,” Justin chokes out.

Dr. Lyall nods at him curtly. “It’s nice to meet you. Now, let’s get you caught up to speed. Brian was admitted at 8.45am with severe chest pains, shortness of breath, and elevated blood pressure. We’re currently waiting on test results which will help us figure out what’s going on. In the meantime, I’d like to get in touch with your GP to discuss your recent history with medication.”

Bewildered, Justin blurts out, “Brian isn’t on any medication.” 

As soon as he’s said it, he senses a change in the room. A thread of tension weaves its way around the three of them. Justin looks at Dr. Lyall, but Dr. Lyall suddenly seems very interested in the chart he’s holding. So Justin then glances at Brian and is stunned - Brian looks guilty as shit. “What… what medication are you taking?”

Brian looks away and cringes. Dr. Lyall clears his throat and fumbles the chart.

“Brian,” Justin says sternly, “What medication are you taking?”

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Dr. Lyall says, and off he goes.

Brian coughs and stares out the window. “Uh, about that.”

“Yeah, about that,” Justin says. He gets off the bed and folds his arms over his chest. “I feel like this is the tenth time I’ve said it, but since I’ve yet to hear an answer, I’ll go again: What medication are you taking?!”

Brian shakes his head slightly, sighs, and mutters, “I’ve been taking Cialis… recently.”

“Cial…” Justin trails off into shocked silence. He struggles to snap himself out of it, and even when he finally does, all he can think to say is: “Define ‘recently’.”

“The past six… no, eight… months.” Brian shrugs. “It’s not a big deal.”

“‘Not a big deal’? How can you _say_ that?!”

“Because it’s not,” Brian snaps. He ceases staring out the window and directs an icy look Justin’s way. “Things aren’t what they used to be. I’m fifty-nine, not twenty-nine, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Really? You’re fifty-nine?” Justin scoffs. “That’s news to me! Thanks for the memo, Brian - I mean, it’s not like we’re _married_ or anything. It’s not like we’ve been together for three goddamned decades.”

“You know, if you’re going to be a complete asshole about this-”

“I’m the asshole? Really? I am? Because I know for damn sure that I would never keep something like this from you!”

“You would never have to!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Look at you!” Brian gestures at him and sneers. “You’re still young. You have no goddamned clue what this is like.”

“You’re right,” Justin retorts bluntly, “I have no goddamned clue. Just like I had no goddamned clue my so-called husband was medicating himself! Jesus, Brian, what if that has something to do with this?”

It hurts beyond all belief when Brian mutters, “Everyone’s gotta go some way, some time.”

Through the incomprehensible pain, Justin begs, “Don’t say that.”

“I’d rather go like this,” Brian insists stubbornly. “Better to spend my last years on this earth fucking, rather than limp and lame.”

“Stop it,” Justin pleads. He doesn’t want to believe that these might be Brian’s ‘last years’. Worse yet - maybe they’ve already lived them. Maybe they’ve been living them for a while now. Maybe…

Panic very nearly overwhelms him, but he manages to hold himself together for long enough to say, “I don’t want you taking that shit. Not if it could hurt you.”

“Not an option,” Brian says stonily.

Justin is staggered. He doesn’t understand how they’ve spiralled into an argument so quickly, nor does he _want_ to fight with Brian at a time like this, but frustration overcomes reason. Infuriated, he cries, “It _is_ an option! It’s absolutely an option, and it’s one we’re going to discuss right now.”

“Will you fucking drop it? It’s my body!”

“So you’re happy to risk your health for the sake of this medication - which, by the way, I’m not even convinced you _need!”_

“If you want me to perform the way I used to-”

There’s a hell of a lot of blame laced through Brian’s tone. Justin can’t believe it - he can’t believe any of this. This morning, he was looking forward to returning home and celebrating his success in LA with Brian. Now they’re yelling at each other in a goddamned hospital room. Justin doesn’t know what he hates more - the fact that Brian has been hiding something crucial from him for the past eight months, or the fact that he’s apparently to blame for all of this. At the very least, Brian seems to see it that way. It devastates Justin to consider that that’s why Brian is lying in a hospital bed right now.

“Don’t make this about me,” he protests. “I don’t know what you think my expectations are, but let me be very clear: What I want more than anything is for you to be alive and well.”

With an indifferent shrug, Brian says, “I won’t be forever.”

He sounds so calm. So impossibly, bizarrely, terrifyingly calm. Justin hears those words over and over:  _I won’t be forever. I won’t be forever. I won’t be forever._

He hears the beeping of the monitor. He imagines it gone. 

_I won’t be forever._

“Thanks for the reality check,” he says. It comes out as little more than a whisper. “Excuse me while I go throw up.”

On that note, Justin turns and strides out of the room as quickly as he can. It isn’t easy - every inch of him has come alive with pain. He vaguely recalls having seen restrooms further down the corridor - yep, there they are. He shoves past an orderly and hurries into the men’s room, where he seeks refuge in one of the stalls.

As soon as the door is locked, he caves against it and cries. The beeping of the monitor is still sounding in the back of his mind. He covers his face with his hands and sobs into his palms. 

_I won’t be forever. _  
__

He pictures Brian secretly taking pills to create the illusion of long-gone youth.

_I won’t be forever. I won’t be forever. I won’t be forever.  
_

He pictures those pills working their way through Brian, poisoning him, hurting him.

**_I won’t be forever._ _I won’t be forever._ _I won’t be forever._ _I won’t be forever._ **

He pictures Brian keeling over at his desk, gasping for breath, clutching at his chest.

_**Iwon’tbeforever.Iwon’tbeforever.Iwon’tbeforever.Iwon’tbeforever.Iwon’tbeforever.Iwon’tbeforever.** _

As the words scream in his mind, Justin cries it out in private. He wishes he were elsewhere - in Brian’s arms, perhaps - but he’s so thrown by everything and so stung with betrayal that he can’t bring himself to move. And so he remains in the stall, alone, sobbing endlessly.

*

After Justin leaves, Brian returns to staring out the window. He doesn’t register what exists beyond the pane of glass; he just stares mindlessly.

Cynthia comes in and sits with him. She holds his hand and explains everything to him. Apparently, he’s taking leave. Indefinitely. Cynthia has already made all the necessary arrangements and won’t be argued with.

Brian doesn’t even try. The fight has gone out of him. It feels as though it’s been drained out after his clash with Justin.

He nods along and agrees with everything she’s saying. She’ll take over New York, Ted will continue to run Pittsburgh, Malcolm will handle San Francisco, and Tom will manage Chicago.

And all the while, Brian will lie in this fucking hospital bed. He’ll be poked and prodded by doctors. Eventually, they’ll come up with something - an answer, a verdict… an expiration date.

That’s probably what this is.

This is the end.

He figures it has to be. He’s expected it for a while now. Hell, he’s amazed he’s lasted this long. He’s just shy of sixty and he really has no right to be. Not after so many years of excessive substance abuse. Not after years upon years of stress and sleep deprivation.

Not after eight months of relying on pills (that he _knew_ were risky) just to impress Justin.

He grimaces at the thought. He hated taking the stupid things - those stupid fucking yellow pills. He tried Viagra for a while but it gave him the most godawful headaches. Cialis worked better. There were no nasty headaches. There were only _very_ impressive results. The kind of results Brian desired; the kind that made him feel like himself again. He could go all night. He could give Justin what he needed.

He could pretend to be young again.

He’s not young anymore. He’s fifty-fucking-nine. Lying in this hospital bed, he feels so much older. He feels exhausted.

He feels ready to hear whatever verdict the doctors come up with and accept it.

Now, whether Justin is ready… well, he isn’t. He isn’t at all.

Vaguely, Brian registers that Cynthia has stopped talking. She’s holding his hand and stroking his arm gently. She leans in and kisses his cheek. The scent of her shampoo - gardenias, he thinks - is a pleasant change from the awful hospital smell that they’ve been stuck with all day. In the very gentlest of tones, Cynthia tells him she loves him. She says that she’s there for him. She asks him to take care of himself.

Then she leaves.

Brian stares out the window, through the pane of glass, into nothingness. He will take care of himself. That’s what he’ll do.

It’s the only option there is.


	2. Chapter 2

Once Justin has stopped crying, he exits the stall and heads over to the basin to wash his face. As the cool water splashes over his skin, he thinks of all the things he should have done rather than running away to cry in the bathroom like some pathetic loser. He stares at his reflection, at his reddened eyes, and resolves to go and do all of those things immediately, if not sooner.

He heads back to the room and slips inside. As he closes the door quietly, he notices that Brian’s bed is elevated slightly now. Brian is sitting up, propped against an array of pillows, staring out the window with a blank expression. Justin ignores the _beep beep beep_ of the monitor and goes to sit next to Brian. He joins their hands and kisses Brian’s cheek.

He says, “I love you.”

He promises, “I’m here for you.”

He swears, “We’ll get through this.”

He kisses Brian again, and again, and again.

He does everything right this time.

But Brian doesn’t respond.

Upon realising his affections aren’t being acknowledged, Justin pulls back and watches Brian warily. He’s completely expressionless with an alarming vacancy in his eyes. Justin squeezes his hands and urges, “Talk to me.”

He soon regrets that request.

Brian pulls his hands away and looks evenly at Justin. In an empty voice, he says, “I don’t want you going through this.”

He continues talking but it’s difficult for Justin to comprehend. It’s like there’s a lag - it takes him a good few seconds to catch up with everything Brian’s saying.

Once again, his entire body - no, his entire _being -_ comes alive with pain.

“You’re still young,” Brian says, his gaze flicking between Justin and the window. “You have a life to live. I probably don’t. Whatever this is… I think it’s serious. It’s probably it.”

 _It,_ Justin thinks. _It._

That one word, that single syllable, those two tiny letters… they crush him.

“You can have the apartment,” Brian continues. His blank expression lifts for a moment; his lips twist into a small, broken smile. “You can have anything you want. When it’s over, you can have it all.”

_When it’s over._

Justin struggles to figure out what’s being said. _When it’s over._ When _it_ has happened. When Brian’s dead.

But everything else is already ending. That’s what’s happening right now. Brian is ending this.

Justin hears a strangled sound fall from his own mouth; it takes a moment for him to realise that he’s said, “No.”

“Yes,” Brian says simply. He stares stubbornly at the window and insists, “You deserve better than this. I won’t have you go through this.”

Somehow (he really doesn’t know how, because his entire body is screaming with pain), Justin manages to stand up and back away. He clasps his right hand over his mouth to keep from sobbing. He winds his left arm around his waist to hold himself together.

“It’s for the best,” Brian says quietly. He sounds so… _resigned._ It’s as though he’s made up his mind: the end is nigh and Brian wants to go it alone.

The thought of being forced away at a time like this is excruciating. Even worse is the thought of Brian suffering through whatever this is all on his own. Justin honestly feels as though he might fall apart at any moment. Nothing has  _ever_ hurt this badly.

“Please,” he says. The word sounds warped. He feels tears burning in his eyes; they start to fall as he repeats, “Please.”

There’s so much more that should be said, but Justin can’t find the words. He can’t make sense of any of this. He can’t-

“Okay,” Dr. Lyall calls, as he comes charging back into the room, multiple files in hand. “Let’s talk test results.”

He glances at Justin, who is on the brink of crumbling into a crying mess, and then at Brian, who is sitting there with tears in his eyes. With a sympathetic sigh, Dr. Lyall says, “You two look like you could use some good news.”

“Good news?” Justin whips around and stares at the doctor. “There’s good news?”

“Absolutely there is.” Dr. Lyall spreads the files out over the table at the foot of Brian’s bed. Justin wishes Daphne were here - she could help to translate.

She could also help with smacking some sense into Brian. That’d be helpful right about now.

Brian grabs the remote and elevates his bed so that he’s sitting completely upright. He throws an accusatory look at Dr. Lyall and demands, “What’s the ‘good news’?”

“Your test results are clear.” Dr. Lyall starts sifting through the documents and explaining the results. He goes through it in minute detail and at great length, until finally, he concludes, “Other than the high blood pressure, you’re in good health. Physically, there’s very little wrong with you.”

The colour drains from Brian’s face. He grabs at the files and rifles through them. “Uh, so what the fuck is the explanation for this morning? I already told you - it felt like a goddamned heart attack! You said it could be a blockage, or damage to a valve, or… or…”

“I don’t understand,” Justin puts in, since Brian has trailed off into a bewildered and frustrated silence. “Cyn said that he doubled over. That he couldn’t see or hear, that he was shaking…”

Dr. Lyall nods. “When I spoke with her, she indicated that Brian has been dealing with a lot of stress lately. Is that true, Brian?”

Brian drops the heap of files and folds his hands together. Reluctantly, he concedes, “It’s somewhat true.”

“‘Somewhat’…?!” Justin almost wants to laugh. He turns to Dr. Lyall and asserts, “He’s been stressed out ever since I’ve known him. He’s a total workaholic. His workload has only increased over the years, almost exponentially so! He’s split four ways across the country now.”

“Well then,” Dr. Lyall says, eyeing Brian sternly. That really makes Justin want to laugh, given that Dr. Lyall is probably no older than forty - if that! Seeing him eyeball Brian, of all people, makes Justin want to dissolve into giggles. If it weren’t for his heart being broken, he might just. “We need to have a discussion about your mental health and the potential physiological repercussions of severe stress. I believe I can say with confidence that _that’s_ what we’re dealing with here.”

“Severe stress,” Brian echoes, somewhat distastefully. “And that can make it feel like someone’s plunged their hand through my chest, ripped my heart out, and shoved it into a vice? And then immersed said vice in acid?”

Justin cringes at the graphic description. He wants to go and sit with Brian again and offer him comfort, but there’s this thing hanging between the two of them.

The thing where Brian wants him to leave.

What _was_ it exactly? A break-up? A separation?

Was Brian asking for a divorce?

The agony that has been seething within Justin ever since he got off the plane and started living this nightmare is abruptly joined by a rush of nausea. His legs feel as though they might go out from under him at any given moment.

He wants to run, but where, he isn’t sure. Out of the room? Into Brian’s arms?

That’s honestly all he wants in the world right now - to be in Brian’s arms - but is that even an option?

“Chronic stress often manifests physically, and it’s often unpleasant,” Dr. Lyall explains. He continues to talk them through the risks, all of which scare the shit out of Justin. He stares at the floor all the way through Dr. Lyall’s monologue; he can’t bring himself to look either at the doctor, who is reeling off a list of horrifying hazards, nor Brian, who moments ago was insisting that their relationship was _over._

When Dr. Lyall has finally finished lecturing Brian, he softens and advises gently, “You need to consider a lifestyle change. I’m happy to hand over to your GP in this instance - I’ll be in touch with him to discuss the test results and my concerns. In the meantime, do either of you have any questions?”

“Yeah,” Brian says quietly. “Are you sure about this? I mean… you’re sure nothing’s wrong with me?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Dr. Lyall starts assembling the documents into a tidy stack. “When you were admitted this morning, we feared the worst. Chest pain - especially such severe chest pain - is a huge red flag, particularly given your age and the history you provided us. Now, compared to some of the potential eventualities, you’ve been quite fortunate. But let me be clear - that’s only in a comparative sense. Chronic stress is a better outcome than, say, myocarditis. But it’s in no way a good outcome. I’m concerned about the episode this morning and I’m concerned about your blood pressure. This is all in need of remedying. It’s serious, Brian. If you don’t make changes now, your situation will worsen. I’ve seen stress kill people before. I don’t want to have to add you to that list.”

“You won’t have to,” Justin and Brian say in unison. It’s then that they finally look at each other. Brian stares at Justin with sorrow rich in his gaze, while Justin stares back through tears that he’s barely able to contain.

“Good to hear,” Dr. Lyall says. He smiles at them encouragingly. “Now, I’m happy to keep Brian overnight for observation. I don’t think it’s entirely necessary, but if it would give you peace of mind, I’ll happily do so. Alternatively, I can discharge him later tonight – on the condition that he’s taken home and put on bed-rest for the next week.”

“He’s coming home with me,” Justin insists abruptly. He narrows his eyes a little at Brian as a warning: _don’t fight me on this_. As Brian guiltily averts his gaze, Justin assures Dr. Lyall, “I’ll see that he’s looked after.”

“Okay.” Dr. Lyall gathers the files up. “I’ll prepare the paperwork. I’ll also contact your GP and see if he’s willing to arrange for a few home visits. If not, I can refer you to a colleague who will certainly be able to assist.”

“Thank you,” Justin says. He can’t quite bring himself to smile at Dr. Lyall, but apparently it’s not needed. Dr. Lyall smiles at him sympathetically. He then goes to pat Brian’s shoulder, then he departs swiftly.

This leaves the two of them staring at each other silently. Justin doesn’t know what to do, what to say… he’s at a total loss.

Eventually, Brian breaks the silence by saying with forced lightness, “So… good news.”

Justin remains silent. He feels completely thrown. Early this morning, all was right in the world. Hours later, everything was falling apart. Now he doesn’t know where they stand.

Brian sighs and flops back against the pillows. He runs his hands over his face and then drops them into his lap. As he angles a remorseful look Justin’s way, he says, “Is there… _any_ chance we can just rewind back to before-”

Bluntly, Justin interjects, “-you tried to divorce me?”

He watches Brian’s face fall and it hurts - fuck, does it hurt. Desperately, Brian protests, “I wasn’t trying to divorce you. I just thought it might be better if we went our separate ways.”

“And now?” Justin huffs. “Now that we know you’re _not_   terminally ill? Now that your doomsday prophecies have been disproven? What’s your plan of action now?”

Somehow, Brian manages to smile. “I’d really like it if you’d come over here.”

Quite hotly, Justin challenges, “What happens if I go over there?”

Earnestly, Brian says, “I’ll tell you how incredibly fucking sorry I am. And I’ll try to make it up to you.”

That sounds so good to Justin that his head starts to swim. For a moment, all he can think of is being wrapped up in Brian’s arms. But he fights the temptation as best he can, because right now, certain things need to be said.

Justin folds his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. “First things first. I want to make something very clear, so listen up. Are you listening?”

With a quick nod, Brian confirms, “Yes.”

Justin pins Brian with a look and insists, “I was never going to leave you. I was never going to accept your insanely stupid suggestion that we go our separate ways. I was always going to stay by your side whether you were healthy, or sick, or dying. I’m sorry for walking out before - I just needed a moment, that’s all. I wasn’t abandoning you, I swear, I wasn’t. I’m with you. I’m here. I’m yours and you’re mine and I have no intention whatsoever of giving that up.”

He pauses to take a breath. As he inhales and exhales slowly and carefully, he notices Brian staring at him expectantly.

“What?”

Brian grins a little and teases, “I was expecting to be called an asshole.”

“Asshole,” Justin supplies dutifully. Then, practically at the speed of light, he rushes into Brian’s waiting arms. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you,” Brian whispers, with his face pressed against Justin’s neck. “I love you so much.”

“I’m so sorry.” Justin presses his face into Brian’s shoulder and murmurs again, “I’m so sorry.”

Brian whispers apology after apology back, and he covers Justin with kisses, and they hold onto each other with incredible intensity. 

Justin soaks up everything he was worried he was going to lose; Brian’s loving presence, his warm embrace, his comforting touch. He kisses Brian’s shoulder and mumbles kind words into it, little reassurances… they almost feel like messages in bottles. Even though they’re safely kept in each other’s arms, Justin feels a sense of distance between the two of them.

How could Brian think he would leave? Didn’t he get over those fears long ago?

Why did Brian lie to him? Aren’t they always honest with each other nowadays?

And why did Brian try to push him away? Aren’t they supposed to be a team?

Justin holds Brian closer. He pours all of himself into the embrace. As Brian runs a hand through Justin’s hair, Justin murmurs, “We have a lot to talk about.”

“I know, Sunshine,” Brian whispers, his voice caught somewhere between laughter and breaking. “I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Good morning, darling,” Justin says as he enters the bedroom with a smirk on his face and an edge to his voice that reads: _yes, I just called you ‘darling’ - what are you going to do about it?_

“Come over here and call me ‘darling’,” Brian snarks, “And just see what happens.”

Justin laughs and approaches Brian fearlessly. “Might I remind you that you’re on bed-rest? Emphasis on ‘rest’.”

He sets the breakfast tray he’s carrying down on Brian’s lap and then kisses Brian’s forehead. Brian angles up to demand a real kiss, which Justin supplies immediately. Brian grasps a fistful of Justin’s sweater (which he’s pretty sure is actually _his_ sweater) and holds Justin close, at least until they’re both sated.

When Justin pulls away and goes to grab something from the nightstand, Brian turns his attention to the breakfast that has been placed in his lap. He stares at the tray in awe and asks, “What is all this?”

“Poached eggs with proscuitto - the toast is from that awesome place on Broome - and stewed fruits.” Justin grabs a tub of lotion from the drawer and juggles it from hand to hand. “Oh, and jasmine tea. It’s supposed to be calming.”

“Calming,” Brian echoes disdainfully. “Like how ‘indefinite leave’ is supposed to be calming?”

“Indefinite leave _will_ be calming,” Justin says. “You just have to lean into it a little. Trust me on this.”

Brian fights the urge to roll his eyes. In the interest of ‘leaning into it’, he picks up his cup of tea and takes a sip. It doesn’t do much to calm his anxieties about being away from work, but it does taste pretty nice.

With keen interest, Justin asks, “Is it good?”

“Yeah.” Brian takes another sip. This seems to please Justin greatly.

“Good,” he says, grinning. “Now eat up.”

As Brian digs in, Justin sits down cross-legged on the end of the bed. After pulling the covers back to reveal Brian’s feet, he unscrews the lid off the tub of lotion and scoops some into the palm of his hands. Then he pulls Brian’s left foot into his lap and starts massaging it.

“Thanks,” Brian says softly. He takes a bite of toast and actually tastes it - the crunch of the crust, the warmth and softness of the bread within, the pleasing spread of butter. He can’t remember the last time he actually took a moment to taste his breakfast, let alone enjoy it. Lately all of his meals have been rushed - and that’s if he’s taken the time to eat at all.

“At the risk of sounding like my mother,” Justin says, grimacing slightly, “You’re too skinny. We need to fatten you up.”

“You want me to be calm?” Brian points his fork at Justin. “Don’t use any variation of the word ‘fat’ in my presence.”

Justin grins evilly. “Yes, _darling.”_

Brian rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his eggs. He almost moans as the warm yolk pools over his tongue. He feasts on another few delicious bites before stopping to praise Justin. “This is fucking sublime.”

He watches as Justin’s face lights up. It’s such a pleasing sight. Brian smiles back and then returns to his breakfast, whilst enjoying the sinfully good foot-rub Justin is treating him to.

Maybe ‘indefinite leave’ won’t be so bad after all.

*

There’s a conversation that needs to be had, but Justin doesn’t know how to start it.

He decided to delay it when they arrived home from the hospital last night; he focused instead on drawing Brian a bath and indulging him until it was time for bed. Then, sans Cialis, they had sex. The words ‘made love’ seem more fitting to Justin, but he knows how Brian loathes that cloying turn of phrase. Still, it wasn’t anything like the fast and furious reunion sex Justin had been anticipating earlier in the day; it was slow and sweet, ever so gentle, and undoubtedly the best sex they’ve had in a long time.

Afterwards, Justin curled up around Brian and treated him to soft caresses and tender kisses until he was lulled off to sleep. Justin stayed awake for a while afterwards, simply watching Brian and making sure he was okay. He listened to his breathing and put his hand over Brian’s heart. He didn’t let himself fall asleep until he was completely sure that Brian was sleeping peacefully.

When morning arrived and Justin awoke, he instantly flew into action. He rushed around the nearby markets and bakeries to gather groceries, then hastened homewards to make Brian breakfast. One thing that struck him while he was watching Brian sleep was his alarming thinness. He was already looking thinner around the time Justin left for LA, but now he seems to have lost even more weight.

Justin won’t have that. As they sit in bed together - Brian eating his breakfast, Justin rubbing his feet - Justin starts mentally planning the meals for the week. Though Brian may balk at the idea of being ‘fattened up’, he certainly won’t mind being treated to delicious homemade breakfasts, lunches, and dinners.

Their conversation can wait.

Right?

“Am I at least allowed to call and check up on things?”

Brian’s query gives Justin pause. He switches from Brian’s right foot to his left as he points out, “I’m not your gatekeeper. If you want to call and check up, you should.”

Brian looks a little surprised by that. Justin gives his foot a squeeze. “I hardly think controlling you is going to help your recovery. Just… take it easy. That’s all I ask. Kinnetik is in good hands.”

“It is,” Brian agrees. He scrapes up one final forkful of breakfast and devours it eagerly. “That was really great.”

“Glad to hear it.” Justin lifts Brian’s foot up and kisses his big toe gently. Then he directs a mischievous grin at Brian.

With realisation dawning on his face, Brian warns, “Don’t you dare.”

Justin flat out refuses to heed said warning. He traces his thumb along the most ticklish part of Brian’s foot, which makes Brian flinch and squirm.

“Justin,” Brian gripes, “This isn’t very _restful.”_

“Really?” Justin feigns confusion. “Are you sure? I think we should double check.”

He then commences tickling Brian’s foot mercilessly, and he doesn’t let up until Brian is shaking with laughter.

The sound of Brian’s uncontrollable laugher and the sight of his smile is irresistible to Justin. Whether it can be considered ‘restful’ is debatable, but the sense of reprieve is undeniable.

*

After breakfast, Brian sets himself a challenge: no calls to work, no checking emails, no nothing.

He doesn’t fool himself that he’ll last very long like this. He’ll probably give in by midday tomorrow and call Cynthia. Of course, she might not be willing to give anything up. Justin may not want to play gatekeeper, but Cynthia takes well to such a role. Fortunately, there are other options. Like Ted. Ted will give Brian the information he needs.

Until then, Brian tries to focus on perfecting the art of bed-rest. While Justin scurries about the apartment tidying and preparing lunch, Brian grabs a stack of books from the bookshelf by the window and holes up in bed with them. Their apartment is filled with books - mostly Justin’s, some of them his - but he rarely has a chance to actually read any of them. It turns out he doesn’t half mind this. He remains curled up in bed reading quite contentedly until lunchtime.

When Justin brings in a tray with their lunches, Brian abandons the books and demands to know everything about LA. As Justin chatters happily about the festival he was at, the people he met, and the new ideas he’s come home with, Brian inhales his plate of linguine alle noci. He’s missed Justin’s cooking and today it would seem Justin is going all out.

Later, after Justin has finished raving about his time in LA, he offers to set up the TV so that Brian can watch something. Since it feels like for-fucking-ever since Brian watched a movie, he agrees. 

“Are you sure your tiny body can handle that?” Brian teases, as he watches Justin lug Gus’ TV into the bedroom.

Justin balks. “My ‘tiny body’?! Excuse. You.”

Brian laughs and lounges against the pillows. Justin huffs and positions the TV on top of the desk that he dragged in a few minutes ago. “Okay… any preferences?”

“Something _restful,”_ Brian drawls.

Justin smiles and shakes his head. After switching the TV on, he tosses Brian the remote. “It’s all you.”

Brian flicks through until he finds something appealing. As he sets the remote aside, he beckons to Justin. “Come here.”

Justin glances between the bed, the TV, and the bedroom door. “I was going to get dinner ready.”

Brian merely pulls the covers back and motions for Justin to join him. Justin relents with a grin, slips into bed, and cozies up to Brian.

Whilst stroking Brian’s chest, Justin asks, “You don’t mind dinner being late?”

“It can wait,” Brian resolves with a shrug.

Really, what can wait is the conversation that will likely follow dinner. Brian isn’t ready for it yet. He doesn’t know what scares him more - discussing the future (or lackthereof) of his career, or confronting the issues in their relationship.

Actually, no, he knows for damn sure what scares him the most - it’s the fact that he almost ended their relationship and likely shattered Justin in the process. So much for all the years they’ve spent together - he’s probably put an irreparable dent in that.

For now, Brian refuses to think about it. Now is supposed to be a time for resting. He wraps an arm around Justin and holds him close. Meanwhile, Justin’s head comes to rest on his chest. Brian can feel the soft graze of warm breath against his skin; it’s ever so calming. He kisses the top of Justin’s head and murmurs into his hair, “I love you.”

Justin makes a small, happy noise and nestles closer. “Love you, too.”

It’s such a relief to hear that. Brian enjoys the momentary rush and then turns his attention to the movie. With Justin kept safely in his arms and with the movie starting to play, Brian soon forgets about everything else.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you quite sure,” Brian says, smirking at Justin, “That this counts as bed-rest?”

Justin gives him a look. “You’re sitting down. You seem perfectly relaxed. I think it counts, but if you have an issue-”

“No,” Brian interjects hastily. “No, it’s fine.”

He can’t go back to bed. He’s spent all day in the damn thing and he’s well and truly hit his limit. It’s such a relief to be in the kitchen; it’s a welcome change of scenery, plus, he’s getting to enjoy watching Justin prepare dinner.

He always loves watching Justin cook, and it’s not just the mouth-watering meals that pique Brian’s interest. It’s Justin himself. Watching him cook is a lot like watching him paint - there’s a liveliness to him that’s incredibly endearing. It fills the room quickly, then spreads throughout the apartment until their entire home is filled with warmth and spirit.

Their home. The one that Brian tried to give up yesterday in order to convince Justin to leave.

_What the fuck is **wrong** with you?_

The sense of regret is sickening. Brian stiffens and turns his gaze away from Justin dishing up their platefuls of salmon, salad, and focaccia. He tries to push the thought away, but it won’t go. The guilt _clings_ to him.

“Brian?” Justin stops what he’s doing and asks worriedly, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Brian lies. He tries to force a reassuring smile, but it won’t form on his face.

Justin frowns and draws nearer. “You don’t look fine. Are you not feeling well? Maybe we should have this in bed-”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Brian looks at Justin - at the concern scrawled all over his features, at the compassion evident in his gaze - and wonders how he could have tried to push him away. He hangs his head a little and laments, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Without so much as a split second of hesitation, Justin places his hand on Brian’s shoulder and leans in to kiss his temple. “It’s okay. It’s _okay._ We’ll talk after dinner, alright?”

Brian savours Justin’s touch. He tries to believe his kind words. As he struggles to get there, he nods and agrees, “Alright.”

*

They barely speak during dinner. Brian reaches out every so often to touch Justin’s hand and makes several appreciative comments, but that’s about it.

The truth is, it isn’t okay. Justin isn’t okay. He’s still blindsided by everything that happened yesterday. To say that he’s still hurting from their almost-breakup is a serious understatement.

There’s a part of Justin – a rather sizeable part, in fact – that wants to yell and scream and make his hurt feelings known as loudly as possible. But despite how strong that urge is, it’s stifled by other feelings. Like his gratitude – he’s almost dizzyingly grateful that Brian isn’t seriously unwell. In turn, he’s feeling blissfully hopeful for Brian’s recovery. Justin is also desperately keen to care for Brian, to protect him and help him heal.

So he refuses to yell and scream. He has to bite his tongue a few times, but bite his tongue he does, and so their conversation continues calmly. That’s no small feat – especially not when they’re discussing something as divisive as Brian’s lulling sex drive.

At one point, Justin starts to worry that he’ll bite his tongue clean off. They almost lapse into an argument about Brian’s secrecy regarding the medication, but then he reminds himself: _Yesterday, you thought this might all be over. You thought he could be dying. You know better now. You can get through this._

Then, avidly: **_We will _**_get through this._

“It’s not that I want it any less,” Brian explains. He grimaces and drains the rest of his glass of wine in one go. “It’s that my decrepit body won’t cooperate.”

“You’re not ‘decrepit’,” Justin says, chuckling a little. He takes Brian’s empty glass and goes to refill it, but it would seem that they’ve polished off the last of the wine. He sets the glass down on the coffee table and turns back to Brian. “You’re not even close. Have you seen what other guys your age look like? You look fucking magnificent compared to them. You look fucking magnificent, full stop.”

Brian sighs and pools against the couch cushions. “I don’t feel it.”

Justin inches closer and then draws his knees to his chest. As he props his chin atop them, he says, “Maybe the stress has something to do with it.”

“Maybe the fact that I’m almost sixty has something to do with it.” Brian closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he looks incredibly tired. “I never intended to make it to this point. This is why.”

“Don’t say that.” Justin rests his hand on Brian’s arm, which is draped over the back of the couch, and strokes it gently. “I don’t mind if our sex life changes. I’m not young anymore, either. I don’t have the same stamina that I used to.”

“At least you can still work,” Brian retorts sullenly.

“Right… about that… what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

Justin certainly doesn’t know what the answer is. Given the morbid warnings from Dr. Lyall, he’s tempted to believe that retirement is the right thing to aim for. Except he can’t imagine Brian _retired -_ not at all. Cutting back seems like a good compromise, but he doubts Brian will like that idea. He can see this easily sparking conflict between the two of them.

Since he’d still really like to avoid that, Justin suggests gently but firmly, “I think you need to cut way back; I think that much is obvious. You can’t be pushing yourself this hard. It’s not just what you went through yesterday - you’ve lost a tonne of weight, you look exhausted… it’s not okay, Bri. You deserve better than the hell you’re putting yourself through.”

Not sounding at all convinced, Brian murmurs, “Right.”

For the time being, Justin decides not to push it any further. Brian sounds weary enough as it is. He offers Brian a comforting smile and resolves, “We can talk about that more later.”

“Yeah,” Brian agrees, although he sounds no less weary.

“Right now… I’d really like to talk about what happened yesterday. Between us.” Justin cringes at the thought of it - he’s tried talking himself through it, but it hasn’t helped much. He’s still reeling from Brian’s attempt to end their relationship. As he recalls it all, pain blossoms anew within him. He fights through it to say, “I just don’t understand how you could think that I would leave you.”

“I didn’t think you _would,”_ Brian says with a trace of snark, “I knew you’d dig your stubborn little heels in. I thought you _should.”_

At that, Justin almost laughs. “And what was your plan, for when I would inevitably dig my stubborn little heels in?”

Brian looks away and murmurs, “To put my foot down and insist that you go.”

“You would have insisted on it?”

“Yeah.”

“And if I’d refused?”

“I would have pulled the trigger myself.”

The thought of that sends the pain into overdrive. Would Brian have really just walked away? Would he have abandoned their relationship and isolated himself at the worst possible time?

He sounded set on the idea yesterday, and now he seems just as certain that he would have ‘pulled the trigger’. It wounds Justin, to realise that Brian had his mind made up. Were it not for his test results being clear, their relationship would be over.

This time, he can’t bring himself to bite his tongue. There are certain things that are worth fighting over - like, for instance, the fact that Brian didn’t seem think that their relationship was worth fighting for.

Justin stares at Brian and demands, “Do you have any idea how hurtful that is? After all this time? That you would make a unilateral decision to end everything we’ve built together?”

“I do.” Brian meets Justin’s gaze. There are traces of guilt everywhere - in the stiffness of his shoulders, in the sad twist of his lips, in the darkness in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Then he looks away and repeats quietly, “I’m really sorry.”

His distress is too much to bear. Hoping to alleviate it, Justin curls his fingers around Brian’s forearm and squeezes affectionately. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I just want you to realise that it’s not what I want. I thought you knew that by now.”

“I know that,” Brian insists. “It’s not that I don’t know what you want.”

“So what is it?”

“I think you deserve better.”

“There _isn’t_ better than you.”

“And there was a time when I really believed that. But things are changing now. I’m getting older-”

“Brian,” Justin cuts in. “I’ve _always_ known that you were older. That isn’t new information.”

“Do you realise what things might look like from hereon in? With me getting older, and older, and older? No, you know what? Forget that for a second.” Brian sighs sharply and stresses, “I thought I was going to die yesterday. I really did. When I was in the ambulance, when the doctors were running test after test, when I was waiting for them to tell me what was wrong… I had this overwhelming sense: this is it.”

He stops to draw in a ragged breath. Justin winces to hear the raw inhale and exhale. After a moment, Brian admits quietly, “I thought it was going to end, and badly at that. I didn’t want you to suffer.”

“I still would have suffered,” Justin protests heatedly. He’s trying to keep calm, but all of this stings so much. “God fucking forbid, if your diagnosis had been different, breaking up wouldn’t have helped me. It would have devastated me. And for the life of me, I don’t get it… would you really want it to be over? Would you really want to be alone at the end?”

“No. But I’d want it for you.”

“What does that even _mean?”_

For a while, Brian doesn’t say anything. He looks away again and stares into space. Justin doesn’t try to push him; he simply sits there and continues stroking Brian’s arm, which he hopes proves soothing.

“You almost died when you were eighteen,” Brian says at long last. His voice is almost whisper-quiet. “I still remember that like it was yesterday. It really looked like we were going to lose you. But you pulled through. You survived. You got a second chance. Hell, after Babylon… after that night at The Stonewall… you got a third chance, a fourth. I don’t ever want you wasting those chances. I don’t want you… _trapped_ with some… aging, ailing, impotent retiree. I want the best for you, and yesterday… for the first time, in a long time, I didn’t think I was it. Far from it, in fact.”

With every word that Brian utters, his voice grows more fragile. As he spits out ‘aging’, ‘ailing’, ‘impotent’, and ‘retiree’, they come out increasingly bitter. It’s agonising, to hear him describe himself so harshly.

Justin takes his hand off Brian’s arm and settles it on Brian’s chest. He cups the other around the back of Brian’s neck and moves closer. “I don’t consider myself trapped with you. I also don’t consider you to be ailing or impotent. You’re older, yes, and you may soon be retired… but there’s nothing wrong with either of those things.”

“Isn’t there?” Brian’s lips twist and tangle into something vaguely reminiscent of a smile. It’s such a sad expression, really - it cuts Justin to his core. It starts to sound like Brian’s voice is breaking as he confesses, “I don’t know myself like this. I thought it was bad enough when I hit forty - now I fucking wish I could go back to that point. Forty was easy. At least I could still work and fuck the way I wanted to. Back then, everything was on my terms. Now that’s all being stripped away, bit by bit. What happens if I retire? What happens if I can’t get it up anymore?”

Then, after a strained beat, and sounding utterly shattered, he laments, “I have no idea who the hell I am like this.”

Justin caresses Brian’s neck gently with small, slow strokes of his fingertips. He keeps his other hand placed firmly on Brian’s chest and pays close mind to the steady heartbeat that keeps thumping against the centre of his palm. As he looks into Brian’s eyes, which look war-torn, Justin says, “I know who you are.”

He thinks he sees a spark of hope in Brian’s gaze; seeking to turn that into a blaze, Justin continues, “You are Brian Kinney. You are the man that I’ve known for thirty years. _Thirty years.”_

He pauses to watch a very small yet wholly appreciative smile returning some light to Brian’s features. Justin smiles back and leans into kiss Brian’s cheek. He stays close - so close that he can feel Brian’s breath against his face - and keeps going. “In those thirty years, I’ve found this person who… I am in awe of. You’re so accomplished, and I don’t just mean with your work - I mean it in every sense. You’re amazing as a father, as a friend, as a partner. I feel so lucky to have you in my life. All of us do; the whole family. You’re so good to all of us - you’re so loving and giving. And to me, you’re so many things. I hardly even know where to begin. I mean, I always loved calling you my ‘partner’ and now I love calling you my ‘husband’, but there’s more to it than those words can describe. You’re one of my best friends. You’re the greatest support system I could hope for. You inspire me every day to keep going and to be the best possible version of myself. And leaving aside what you mean to me and to everyone else, you’re incredible. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re strong and brave… and you’re beautiful through and through. That’s who you are. That’s who I’m looking at right now… and that’s who I look forward to waking up with every day. And it doesn’t matter that things are going to change. I want to be with you. I want to continue living our life together. I’m looking forward to whatever’s ahead of us.”

Justin takes one more moment to savour the feeling of Brian’s heart thump, thump, thumping against his hand. Then he slowly slips his hand away and drops it down to Brian’s knee. It’s then that Brian’s hand comes to cover his in an urgent, needy grasp. Justin glances away from their interlinked fingers and meets Brian’s gaze. His own heart tugs as he catches sight of the tears in Brian’s eyes. Touched, Justin smiles at him. Brian tries to smile back, but then his face crumples and he caves against Justin. With his face buried in the crook of Justin’s neck, Brian starts to cry.


	5. Chapter 5

Brian doesn’t know how long it is that he spends slumped in Justin’s arms crying. He loses himself in it and in doing so loses all sense of time. All he knows is that by the time the tears stop, the collar of Justin’s shirt is soaking wet.

Brian barely registers anything else. He’s vaguely aware of Justin gliding his thumbs gently across his face in careful strokes to wipe the tears away. Then, once his face is dried, Brian feels Justin’s hands in his, helping him up, leading him into their bedroom. Justin lies them down in bed and curls up around him. He whispers something in Brian’s ear and kisses the back of his neck.

It’s only as Brian is slipping off to sleep that he processes what Justin has said.

“Everything will look better in the morning.”

*

And it does.

Brian wakes up late the following morning - he realises this when he glimpses full sunlight streaming brightly through the windows. He can’t remember the last time the sun beat him to rising - other than yesterday, that is. The first day of his indefinite leave. Now he’s arrived at the second.

When Cynthia first spoke those dreaded words, Brian thought that they sounded like a death sentence. Now, he can feel himself warming to them (albeit slowly). He lies there, spread out amongst the soft bedding, and feels at peace.

There isn’t a busy schedule to contend with, nor a near-constant flow of emails demanding his attention. He doesn’t feel tight-chested with worry or light-headed from a perilous mix of hunger and fatigue. His phone is hidden in the nightstand, switched off. There won’t be any missed calls to fret about - they’re all being forwarded to Cynthia’s assistant, Lyn.

Brian sits up slowly and stretches. The ache in his neck is duller than it was two days ago. He rubs it and sighs with relief, then plucks his phone from the nightstand drawer and switches it on. He knows better than to bother calling Cynthia - she’s unlikely to fess up about what’s been happening. Instead, he calls Ted.

“Brian,” Ted says as soon as he picks up. His voice is awash with relief. “I’m so glad you called. I was worried.”

“Worry not, Theodore, I’m fine. How’s Kinnetik?”

“All is well. And that’s not some PR bullshit that Cyn shoved down my throat - really, everything is okay.”

“It’s all running smoothly?”

“Absolutely. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Good.” Brian pauses and frowns. He had expected to be more concerned about the goings on in his absence, but he feels very little concern. Eventually, he resolves, “Look after the place for me, will you?”

“Of course,” Ted promises. Then, with a trace of intrigue, he asks, “How long do you think we’re talking?”

“Hard to say.” Brian slumps back against the headboard. “Justin wants me to cut back. Way back.”

“And what do you want?”

“I want to get better.” Brian stares out the east-facing window, towards the strip of blue sky that’s visible. “After that… I don’t know.”

“Just so you know… if you were to leave, we would miss you. But we’d survive.”

“You think?”

“I know,” Ted says assuredly. He’s quiet for a spell, then he continues, “That’s what all this has been for, right? All these years of hard work? You built this thing - this magnificent, resilient warship of a company - and it’s wall to wall amazing people. There’s not a weak link to be found.”

“Not since I fired Manning,” Brian snarks.

Ted snorts. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - good call on that one.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway…” Ted trails off momentarily and sighs. “Kinnetik would keep going. We’d miss you, of course, but we’d keep going.”

“I don’t know that it’s come to that yet.” Brian combs his fingers through his hair slowly. “I don’t know if I’m ready to walk away.”

“Well, whenever you are… I promise that you’d be able to do so without needing to look back.”

“I know,” Brian says impulsively. It takes him a moment to fully realise he’s said it, and then another to actually register that he means it. If he were to walk away, he wouldn’t look back. It’s not only that it’s not in his nature; it’s that he knows he wouldn’t have to. He has four offices full of people to whom he can entrust the company’s future.

Brian closes his eyes and tries to come to terms with it all. He tries to envisage leaving Kinnetik behind and, strangely, feels no panic. He only wonders what might be next.

For now, he dismisses those thoughts and returns his attention to Ted, whose loyalty has been one of Kinnetik’s strongholds.

“Thanks,” Brian says, though truthfully, his gratitude extends far beyond those six letters strung together. The best that he can think to do is to add, “Really, Ted. Thanks.”

“No thanks needed,” Ted says simply. “Just keep in touch. Let me know how you’re getting on.”

“I will,” Brian promises.

Then they say their goodbyes. Ted is the first to hang up - Brian takes a moment to do so. He’s still processing everything.

He feels torn between past, present, and future. Only a few days ago, his job was his everything: his pastime, his purpose, his passion. With Justin away, Brian found himself devoting nearly every waking second to his work. Now, that’s been taken from him. His body will no longer allow him to push himself that hard. His doctor, Cynthia, and Justin are all keen to see him slow down. And so, everything seems to have come to a halt. No more work - not for the foreseeable future.

Maybe not at all.

What if he were to walk away? What would it be like? What might he find?

Once again, he finds himself envisaging his departure. There’s a small tug of déjà vu; Brian soon places it and realises that only two days ago, he was envisaging a different kind of departure. That one would have led down a dismal road to nothingness. It would have been an ending.

This one, on the other hand, isn’t an ending so much as it is a beginning. Brian almost laughs at the thought – Justin’s optimism must have rubbed off on him. It was bound to, after so many years together. It always was quite infectious.

So there it is: a new beginning. It seems promising, which is something of a rarity these days. Brian considers the road ahead, the years that are hopefully stretched out before him, and wonders what the journey away from Kinnetik might be like.

It won’t be an easy journey - giving up what has been his life for decades now - but Brian does have a feeling that it’s a journey worth making.

*

After he’s showered and dressed, Brian wanders through the apartment in search of Justin. It’s no great surprise when he finds him in the kitchen - Justin is sitting at the island, surrounded by an extensive array of recipe books. He glances up and beams at Brian. “Morning.”

“Morning, Sunshine.” Brian heads over and winds his arms around Justin’s shoulders. He squeezes him and murmurs in his ear, “You were right. Everything looks better now.”

“I’m glad.” Justin tilts his head so that he can kiss Brian’s cheek. “I didn’t want to wake you… I figured you should catch up on some sleep.”

“Thanks. Honestly, I needed it.”

“I figured. So… breakfast? Lunch? Brunch?”

Brian considers the options for a moment, then suggests, “How about lunch at the café downstairs?”

“Downstairs,” Justin echoes warily. “That probably doesn’t fall under the purview of ‘bed-rest’.”

“It’s literally twenty steps out the door,” Brian points out. “We’ll take the lift down, we’ll walk outside, we’ll go into the café and sit right down. Sounds pretty restful to me.”

Justin still doesn’t look convinced. Brian tries to sweeten the pot by saying, “It’ll give you a break. I don’t want you waiting on me hand and foot all day, every day. You need to take it easy, too.”

This still doesn’t win Justin over. That doesn’t matter, though - Brian has a surefire way to get him to come around. He releases Justin from his embrace and pulls the bottle of pills out his pocket. He rattles them around pointedly, grabbing Justin’s attention, then heads over to the sink and pours them down the drain. Brian smiles as Justin’s eyes widen.

As he turns the faucet on to wash the troublesome little pills away, he shrugs and explains, “I figured we’d try it without them for a while.”

Justin recovers from his shock and grins. He leaps at Brian, embraces him, and enthuses, “Yes, let’s.”

Then, more softly, he mumbles, “Thank you.”

Brian hugs him back twice as hard. “Let’s call the next few months a trial period. See if we can manage this problem without drugs.”

*

The decision to go drug-free clearly pleases Justin. There’s almost a skip in his step as they head downstairs to the café on the corner. Outside, the streets are warmed by vivid sunlight that matches the smile on Justin’s face. Brian savours the walk from their building to the café. He pays close mind to every step, every sight, every last detail. It’s been too long since he took the time to appreciate the city.

As they enter the café, Justin leads them towards a table by the window. He pulls Brian’s chair out and orders quietly, “Sit down. Now.”

“I’d better,” Brian drawls. “I’m on the brink of collapsing, you know.”

Justin swats him lightly and goes to fetch some menus. When he returns, he takes his seat and hands Brian a menu. As they read through them, Justin asks idly, “What do you feel like?”

Brian reaches across the table and takes Justin’s hand in his. “This.”

With a sweet smile, Justin queries, “This?”

Brian nods. “I can’t remember the last time we did this – took time during the day to see each other.”

“It’s been a while.” Justin pulls a face and sighs. “We’ve both been too busy.”

“Well, I have a solution to that.”

“You do, do you?”

“I’m going to take the next six months off. More, if Doc says I need it… although I’d like to see this shit resolved in less than that.” Brian gestures vaguely towards his chest. His hand freezes in mid-air when he sees Justin staring at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Brian can’t help but burst out laughing.

Sounding shell-shocked, Justin asks, “You… _want_ to take six months? _You?”_

“Sure.” Brian smiles at him easily. “Call it a trial period.”

“A trial period for…?”

“Retirement.”

“Ret-” Justin cuts himself short and clamps his mouth shut as the waitress comes over to take their order.

Since Justin is clearly still in a state of shock, Brian orders for the both of them. Once the waitress has left, he turns back to Justin and confirms, “Retirement. I have to think about it sometime, don’t I?”

“Yeah, but…” Justin frowns and shakes his head. “I always thought I’d have to hit you with a tranq dart and drag you out of there… when you got to, like, seventy. Or eighty, even, knowing how fucking stubborn you are. Not now, not sixty…”

“Is there a problem?”

“No!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Justin grasps Brian’s hand and squeezes it in a death-grip. “If it’s what you want, then that’s great.”

“It might be,” Brian admits. He glances out the window, towards the busy street. “That’s what the next six months will be for: finding out whether it’s for me. Hell, I might find it completely intolerable… I might go running back to work at the end of it. But I have this feeling that there’s more out there.”

“You’re telling me,” Justin murmurs. He stares at the table for a moment, then eyes Brian guiltily and admits, “I’ve been thinking about taking a break.”

“You have?”

“I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t think it was fair… you _can’t_ work at the moment, so-”

“Forget that.” Brian waves his hand dismissively. “Why do you want time off?”

Justin shrugs and looks out the window, towards the trees lining the street. “I’m tired of thinking of my art as my job. I mean, it is, but… lately, it doesn’t feel personal or meaningful anymore. It’s like I’ve lost sight of it somehow. I’d like to take some time off and just work for myself, not for anybody else.”

“You should,” Brian urges. He punctuates this by tracing his thumb over the inside of Justin’s wrist in a tender stroke. While he repeats the motion again and again, and idea occurs to him. He seizes it and suggests, “Why don’t we go away together?”

As they meet each other’s gaze again, Justin smiles. It’s one that continues to grow as he supplies knowingly, “And see what else is out there?”

“Yeah.” Brian grins back. He can’t help himself – there’s something about today, about this conversation, about this moment that they’re sharing… it’s all so promising. That sense of promise is reflected perfectly in Justin’s hopeful smile, the sight of which makes Brian’s heart sing. He feels his own smile stretch ever wider and, again, he agrees, “Yeah. Let’s see what we can find.”

He doesn’t know what to expect of the coming months. He has no idea what they might bring. But much like Justin, Brian feels hopeful. Good, bad, ugly, or otherwise - he feels ready to face it. Really, in all honesty, he’s looking forward to it. There’s excitement brewing within him - the likes of which Brian hasn’t felt for some time. 

Yes, he’s looking forward to this: to moving on, discovering what else is out there, and - most importantly - living his life.

 **The End**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the encouraging feedback, I really do appreciate it! I promise that there will be a fic to follow this one (soon, hopefully) that focuses on Brian and Justin's travels together.


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